Fluffy and Pink
by Sigma Creations
Summary: One-shot in honour of Sir Harry's birthday tomorrow. Set sometime in early S9, this fic was inspired by a picture of a pair of slippers. Characters borrowed from Kudos. Hope you enjoy and please review if you have a moment.


The moment she finally settles herself comfortably on the settee with a large glass of wine in one hand, a book in the other and a warm fluffy blanket tucked around her, the doorbell rings. She groans, swearing as she puts down her wine and book and stands up, tossing the blanket aside and slipping her feet into her slippers.

"I swear to God, Beth," she says loudly as she moves towards the door, pulling her dressing gown closed and tying the cord around her waist, "if you forget your keys one more time, I'll..." She stops mid-rant as she swings the door open and sees who's standing there, a small smile spreading across his lips. "Oh!" she exclaims in surprise. "Sorry. I thought you were Beth." She watches as he raises an eyebrow in disbelief and feels her cheeks heat up, stammering, "Not that you look anything like Beth, of course, I just saw she's left her keys on the hall table again and thought-"

"Ruth," he interrupts smiling, delighted by how flustered his appearance has made her. "It's all right. I only popped round to drop off your phone." The fact that she's clearly ready for bed, her burgundy dressing gown hugging her body delightfully and drawing his eyes down towards the creamy expanse of her upper chest, is wrecking havoc with his resolution to curtail all late night tête-à-têtes. He really must deliver the phone and get out of here before he embarrasses himself again, like he did last time, after Ros's funeral. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out her mobile, holding it out for her to take as he continues explaining, "You left it at work and so I thought I'd drop it off on my..." but he suddenly tails off, staring in astonishment, unable to believe his eyes as he looks past the phone in his hand and his gaze comes to rest on her feet.

She reaches for the phone as he speaks, but noting his sudden silence, she looks up at his face in surprise. He's staring down at the phone, no, _past_ the phone, she realises, his mouth hanging open in shock, his eyes wide and unblinking, and as she follows his gaze to her feet, she realises with horror that she's forgotten about the slippers.

"Oh God," she breaths, momentarily closing her eyes in mortification, and she starts to back away from him, stammering, "I'm sorry. I can explain."

"Explain?" he murmurs blankly after he's opened and closed his mouth twice in a failed attempt to speak. Dear God, he can't be seeing straight. He's only had one glass of whisky tonight, hasn't he? He blinks hard, but the vision before him remains unchanged though her feet are backing away from him rather rapidly.

"The slippers," she says, speaking fast. "Mine broke the other day and Beth offered me these. She said she got them at a hen party last year and they're too small for her anyway, and she said I could keep them until I get a chance to buy some more, but this week has been so busy that I haven't had a chance to go anywhere to find another pair, so I've been stuck with these." She has to stop speaking to catch her breath. He still looks utterly flummoxed, and if the situation wasn't so embarrassing after everything that's happened between them, especially in the last few weeks, she's sure she'd think this some kind of triumph – to have flustered him so completely. As it is, she rather wishes that he'd stop staring and leave, but he seems glued to the spot just inside her front door, unable to speak, move, or do anything. Eventually, it's too much for her, so she turns and bolts back into the living room, flinging the slippers off her feet, one sailing over the sofa and out of sight, the other skidding to a halt underneath the coffee table, before she drops her head in her hands, desperately wishing that the the floor would just open up and swallow her whole.

Her disappearance into the other room, snaps him out of his stupor, and after he shakes his head in disbelief again, he can't help but smile at the comic value of the situation. Poor Ruth, he thinks fondly, she must be utterly mortified. He thinks about leaving, but he's still holding her phone, and to be honest, he can't quite bring himself to go without reassuring her, so he closes the front door and steps further into the hall, stopping in the doorway to the living room. The sight of Ruth standing there, covering her face with her hands in distress, her feet bare and the slippers nowhere to be seen, melts his heart and all he wants to do is pull her into his arms. Instead he murmurs her name softly, watching as her head snaps up and she stares at him, clearly surprised that he's still here. "Your phone," he offers, holding out the device to her, waiting for her to take it.

"Thank you," she nods, her cheeks still flaming in embarrassment as she steps closer and takes it from his hand. "It was sweet of you to bring it over. I can't believe I didn't miss it." She unlocks it, for something to do to break the tension and avoid looking at him, and frowns as she notices that she has five missed calls, all from Harry. "You called," she states, raising her eyes to his. "Did you need something?"

"No," he shakes his head and at her raised eyebrows adds, "I needed a small bit of info that I've since got from Tariq, but when you didn't answer, I was worried." He shrugs in apology and is relieved when she smiles softly at him. "When I got back to the Grid and tried to call again, I discovered you'd left your phone in your top drawer, so I thought..."

"Thank you, Harry," she smiles, feeling touched both by the fact that he was worried about her and that he took the trouble to bring it to her. "Would you like a drink?" she asks, knowing that he'll probably refuse, but feeling the need to offer it all the same after the trouble he's gone to for her. Besides, she's missed him badly since the terrible mess of his proposal and wants desperately to find a way to bridge the gap that's sprung up between them. It hadn't been their finest hour, neither hers nor his, and she deeply regrets the pain she knows she's caused him.

"I..." he hesitates, knowing he should leave, but unable to do it - not when she's looking this perfect. He's never had a drink in her home before, not like this, not without Gary bloody Hicks here too, not when it's not been for work. Can he risk it, he wonders for a moment before he realises that he has no choice – he's missed her so much and his wounded pride is no longer stronger than the love he's always harboured for her. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"Wine okay?" she smiles, picking up her still full glass and moving past him into the kitchen. "Beth found a good offer on a case the other day, and it's actually not bad."

"Sounds good," he murmurs and stops to hang up his coat in the hall before he follows her into the kitchen.

The wine flows freely as they sit at the kitchen table across from each other, their conversation about work, at least initially, both of them needing the reassurance of the familiar to settle their nerves. They're all too aware of the fact that the last time they did this, sat and talked to each other away from the Grid, was years ago on their one and only date, and though it feels like a life time ago in many ways, in others it feels like yesterday. They're each secretly pleased that the connection between them is still strong, that they can each make the other smile and laugh, and it doesn't take long for them both to realise that their desire for more intimacy is as strong as ever and growing by the second.

When they've exhausted the topic of their current operations, they talk about her choir, his dog, her cats, his children, and her new house, and by the time they've opened the second bottle, she's relaxed enough to tell him a little about her time away, mostly about the places she saw and some amusing anecdotes. She doesn't mention George and Nico and he doesn't ask about them.

He can't remember the last time he's enjoyed himself so much and he can't help hoping for more on this wonderful night, perhaps a kiss or a cuddle on her settee before he goes home. For her part, she feels rather glad that she'd open the door in Beth's outrageous slippers, that she'd offered him a drink, and that he'd accepted. As she watches him take a sip of his wine, draining his glass, she wonders what it would have been like, sitting here with him, if she'd accepted his proposal, if he felt free and relaxed around her, if they could cuddle on her settee as they sipped their wine, if he could climb into her bed and kiss her good night. She watches him lift the bottle and up end it over her glass, the last bit of wine barely filling it half way. He shrugs and lifts his eyes to hers, and she has to look away quickly so she doesn't betray her thoughts, getting up and saying, "I'll get another."

"I'm not sure that's very wise, Ruth," he replies, watching her stop and turn to face him half way across the kitchen.

"Maybe not," she smiles, "but we don't always have to be wise, Harry."

"I think sadly, Ruth," he sighs, "I'm frequently rather _unwise,_ especially where it concerns..." He tails off just in time, drops his gaze to his hands and begins twisting the stem of his empty wine glass between his fingertips.

"Us?" she asks, making him lift his eyes to hers in surprise.

"Yes," he breathes, "though I was going to say you."

Her eyes soften as she looks at him in silence, seeing the guarded hope in his eyes and marvelling at how wonderful a man he is, despite all his failings and limitations, and deeply regretting hurting him so much over the years. "I'm not sure it's wisdom on your part that's been lacking, Harry," she whispers eventually.

"Then what, Ruth?" he asks, his heart in his mouth now. They've never had a conversation before that's been this forthright, and part of him's terrified of destroying any remaining chance he might have with her, however slim that might be.

"Bravery perhaps," she suggests thoughtfully, adding, "on both our parts."

"You think I wasn't _brave_ in asking you what I did?" he demands, feeling frustrated and angry all of a sudden. Does she really not realise the courage it took to propose to her?

"No, you were," she admits immediately, dropping her gaze to her hands that are nervously fiddling with the end of the cord of her dressing gown, "and I'm sorry for the pain I caused you. Truly sorry, Harry." She pauses to lift her eyes to his, softening her gaze and hoping he can see how much she regrets it. She doesn't regret her answer; he'd asked for too much, too soon, and if she's honest, she's still not entirely sure exactly_ why_ he'd asked what he did, though she has to admit, after tonight, that he really _does _love her even if it's only in a chaste, brief encounter kind of way. But she _does_ regret the way she'd expressed herself, wounding him so deeply, perhaps even breaking his heart. "I used to be scared of so many things, Harry... especially relationships, especially with you."

"Why?" he asks softly.

"I had very little self-confidence in anything but my intellectual and analytical abilities. I knew I was bloody good at my job, but everything else..." She sighs. "And then, with you, there was so much... _risk_ involved. You were - still are - older, more experienced, a man of the world, my boss, and despite how much I... felt for you, once the others had found out, I couldn't bring myself to risk it all. I was terrified of losing their respect, my job... you. I wasn't brave enough and you..." She stops herself in embarrassment.

"Wasn't brave enough either," he sighs, knowing she's right. He hadn't wooed her like he should have done, and it's something he's regretted every moment of every day since she'd left on that tugboat. And he'd promised himself that, if she ever came back home, he wouldn't make the same mistake again... but that had been before George. "I thought there'd be time, idiotic though it sounds considering how many we've lost over the years... But I was also in a very difficult position as your boss, Ruth. I didn't want to be accused of harassment, or run the risk of losing you to a different section. You're still the most brilliant analyst I've ever worked with."

"Thank you," she smiles, lifting her gaze to his.

They stare at each other for several moments and he's not sure what to think, the softness in her gaze soothing his battered heart and giving him hope again. Perhaps all is not lost yet, perhaps there's room for one more chance. And no matter how weak it makes him, he desperately wants another chance with her, a chance to love her and make her happy. He rises from the table and takes a step towards her, murmuring, "And now, Ruth?"

She swallows, her heart racing as she watches him search her gaze, feeling as if he's suddenly taking up the entire room and she can't breathe. "It's time to be brave. I'm ready to be brave, Harry," she whispers.

"What are you saying, Ruth?" he asks, his voice cracking from mingled hope and frustration, and he wishes he hadn't drunk quite so much wine, not to mention the glass of whisky he'd had before leaving the Grid. He needs his wits about him when dealing with Ruth... Not that that's helped much in the past, of course; he always seems to get things wrong where she is concerned. "I don't know what you want me to do. Everything I do seems to be wrong. The wrong thing at the wrong time, the wrong words, the wrong action. What do you want from me, Ruth?"

"I could easily ask you the same question," she replies, feeling her own frustration rising suddenly. "We live in the twenty-first century, Harry, not Victorian times. People don't get married just because they're lonely and crave some companionship! Or at least, most people don't; _I_ don't."

"Is that what you think I want?" he asks, taking a step closer still, forcing her to have to tilt her head up slightly to see his face now.

"Well, isn't it?" she demands. "You said something about wanting to have more people at your funeral or mine, or something utterly incomprehensible like that."

"I was nervous," he admits softly, "but that was never my _reason_ for wanting to marry you."

"Well, you could have fooled me," she murmurs, more to herself than him as she looks away for a moment. "And anyway, do you seriously think that any woman today would marry a man with whom she's had an entirely chaste relationship? You haven't so much as kissed me once in-" but she doesn't get to finish her sentence as, moving with lightning speed and taking her completely by surprise, he steps forwards, slips one hand behind her head and with the other grips her hip before bending forwards and kissing her firmly on the lips.

Her body freezes and becomes rigid in his arms, making him think that he's done the wrong thing yet again, but just as he's about to pull back and apologise, he feels her relax against him, her arms slipping over his shoulders and pulling his head down as she hums in pleasure and kisses him back, her lips softly pressing against his.

"Ruth," he groans between kisses, pulling her more tightly against him, fighting to hold onto his composure as he feels tears spring to his eyes, so moved is he by the moment. Five years he's wanted this, longed for it, dreamt of it, waited for it.

Soon her tongue ventures out to taste him, and as he parts his lips below hers, he feels her suck his lower lip into her mouth, her tongue caressing it wonderfully and making him moan in pleasure. He feels a little rusty; the last time he's kissed a woman, _really_ kissed one, having been years ago now, but his muscle memory kicks in quickly and soon they're delving deeply into each other's mouths, snogging with the enthusiasm of a couple of teens though thankfully their skill surpasses that by far.

They pull up for air, both feeling a little dazed, though she's sure it has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with him. "Harry," she whispers softly, bringing her hands down to cup his cheeks as she feels tears spring to her eyes.

"I love you, Ruth," he replies, watching her with tender, honeyed eyes. "I asked you to marry me because I've been in love with you for years and I want to make you happy. I think I could do it if you let me try. All I want is a chance to try. It's all I've ever wanted. Just a chance. Will you grant me that, Ruth? Please."

"Yes, Harry," she smiles. "Most willingly. Not marriage yet, but a chance for us to try, for us to be together." And now he's smiling too and they stand there grinning at each other, their eyes shining with joy, for several moments before she finally says, "Tea then."

"What?" he frowns, puzzled by the sudden shift in conversation.

"You said no to more wine, so tea it is," she smiles, kissing his cheek and pulling away from him, turning to put the kettle on. "You can't drive home yet. You'll be way over the limit."

* * *

><p>He takes a seat on the sofa while he waits for her to return from the bathroom, smiling to himself in quiet joy. She wants them to be together, he thinks in wonder, and yet he still can't quite shake the feeling that he must be dreaming, the fear that he'll wake up any moment in his bed at home and all this will disappear like smoke suddenly threatening to overwhelm him. He doesn't think he could face tomorrow if that turns out to be the case. Looking for something to distract him from the anxiety that's starting to get hold of him, he casts his eyes around the room, and seeing a book on the coffee table, he reaches for it. But as he leans forwards, something pink that's just poking out from underneath the table catches his eye. He reaches for that instead and pulls out one of Ruth's infamous slippers that she'd discarded so hastily earlier. He smiles in bemusement and lifts it to eye level, holding it delicately between the tips of his fingers as he examines it.<p>

It's a normal, fluffy, light pink slipper... until you take note of what's on the top of it – an erect cock and balls, made of the same fluffy pink material, though the balls and head of the cock are of a darker pink and there are tufts of black "hair" sticking up from behind the side of each testicle and in the middle, between them. He shakes his head in disbelief as his mind fills with the vision of her wearing them, and then smiles as he remembers her face earlier when she'd realised what she was wearing as she answered the door.

"Well, they certainly threw _you_ for six," she murmurs, drawing his attention to her as she enters the room and moves towards him, taking a seat beside him on the settee. "I don't think I've ever seen you so utterly... _flummoxed_ before. You were completely lost for words," she grins.

"To be honest, I still am," he admits as he lowers the slipper and turns to face her. "It's... er... quite realistic though," he adds, frowning down at it, but next moment, his eyes snap back to her as the most unladylike snort of amusement escapes her and she dissolves into gales of laughter. He stares at her in bemusement as she continues to laugh, doubling over and clutching her side as tears begin to stream down her face. He hasn't, in fact, seen someone laugh this hard in ages, and though initially, he finds it rather endearing, after almost a minute of it, he begins to feel annoyed to not be sharing in the joke as he wonders if she's laughing at him, if he's said something stupid and embarrassing without realising it. "What?" he demands a little crossly. "What's so funny?"

"Rea.. realistic," she gasps, trying valiantly to control her giggles as she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and straightens up.

"Well, it is," he defends, setting her off again.

Eventually she manages to calm enough to sigh, "Oh God, Harry. I haven't laughed like that in years," as she wipes her eyes with a tissue and giggles, "Realistic. Tell me, Harry, is yours fluffy and pink too?" And then she starts laughing all over again, and as he frowns down at the slipper in his hands, he sees her point and can't help smiling.

"Well, when you put it like that," he admits, "no, it's not." Then he turns the slipper in his hand and grasps the fake cock in his fist before looking up at her and murmuring, "Bit small too, actually," and watching with great satisfaction as she gulps, almost making herself choke, her eyes suddenly wide. "Not to mention rather on the thin side," he whispers, fixing her with a smouldering look. Then he uses his thumb to bend it a little to the left and comments, "It's not very hard either." She's staring at him now, unblinking, a few hiccups escaping her every few seconds, and he's gratified to have rendered her so utterly speechless. Then he smirks and turns towards the coffee table, returning the slipper to the floor and lifting the tea-cosy from the teapot as he adds, "I should probably have said it's anatomically correct instead."

She watches him pour their tea in silence, struggling to recover from his words and the images that have flooded her mind, not to mention her body's rather potent response to it all. By the time she's recovered enough to speak, he's finished pouring the tea and milk and is now adding sugar to their cups. Not wanting to let him have the last word, she murmurs, "Though it's circumcised, so not particularly representative of the majority of the male population in this country," and she watches with satisfaction as he misses the cup and spills the sugar in the saucer when his eyes snap to hers in shock. "Oops," she grins at him.

His eyes darken as he opens his mouth to speak, but the doorbell interrupts him and the words die on his lips as she jumps up, exclaiming, "Beth! That'll be Beth."

"Ruth," he murmurs softly, seeing her sudden anxiety and fearing a repeat of three years ago, "relax. We're just having a cup of tea in your living room. There's nothing wrong with that. I brought you your phone and you invited me in for a cup of tea. Nothing untoward has happened."

"Right," she nods, taking a deep breath. "Right. I'll get the door then."

"Though you might want to hide the wine bottles and glasses in the kitchen first while I take care of this slipper," he smiles and delights in her blush as she turns towards the door. "And Ruth?" he murmurs softly, causing her to stop moving and turn to look at him. "I'm not... Just in case you were wondering." He winks at her and watches the blush spread across her cheeks as she scurries from the room, chuckling to himself at her embarrassment as he picks up the slipper and drops it behind the sofa. Then he schools his face into a suitable Boss Spook expression and waits, inwardly cursing Beth's timing until he realises that it would probably have been a lot worse if she'd rung the bell five minutes from now, judging from the turn their conversation had just taken. He knows that he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from kissing Ruth if they hadn't been interrupted, and who knows where that might have lead.

In the end, Beth doesn't join them for tea, being a little worse for wear from a night on the town, but he still ends up taking his leave a lot sooner than he would have liked. He steps out of the house and turns to face Ruth, surreptitiously scanning the porch for windows that might overlook it, giving Beth the perfect vantage point for spying on them, something he wouldn't put past her even in her current intoxicated state. He's pleasantly surprised that there's only one window overlooking it, that of the living room, and he knows Beth isn't in there as they've just vacated it themselves, so seizing his chance before it can slip between his fingers, he steps close to Ruth, who's still standing inside the house at the edge of the door in her bare feet, and pulls her to him for a brief, passionate kiss full of promise of things to come.

"Good night, Ruth," he murmurs when he pulls back. "Thank you for the tea."

She blinks at him, slightly dazed from his kiss, before she manages to reply, "Good night, Harry... And thanks for dropping off my phone."

He smiles and turns, walking back to his car and she could have sworn she heard him begin to whistle as he stepped through her garden gate and she pushed the front door closed, mindful of the possibility that Beth's watching. If only she'd arrived a few minutes later, she thinks as she begins gathering the tea things and taking them back to the kitchen, who knows what might have happened.

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

"Here you go. Happy birthday," she smiles, placing the parcel on his knee.

"What's this?" he asks. "You already gave me my present earlier, at dinner."

"This is..." she blushes, looking down at her hands that are fiddling with the hem of her top. "It's rather silly actually. Just a silly little extra that I saw and thought... you might appreciate... as a laugh. You don't have to wear them."

"Now I'm intrigued," he smiles, unwrapping the gift to find a pair of maroon slippers with... "Dear God," he breathes, blinking at the vision before his eyes a couple of times before he smiles and then begins to laugh.

"I _thought_ you might appreciate them," she grins and gets up, saying, "Be right back." Then she goes into the hall and pulls out the cock slippers from her handbag, pulling them on and walking back into Harry's living room. He's still sitting on the sofa, but he's put the slippers she gave him on and is staring down at them in quiet contemplation, and it makes her smile.

He looks up as she approaches, saying, "You'd better not have gone off to get the camera, Ruth, because if this ever gets out..."

She laughs as she stops before him, murmuring, "I wouldn't dream of it, Harry." Then she bends over, and moving her feet right in front of his, she pushes each of the fluffy, pink cocks into their respective wine-red pussies on his slippers. "There," she says, straightening up slowly. "Now they're happy."

He glances down to see what she's done, and when he looks back up at her, his eyes are brimming with desire. "Ruth?" he questions softly, raising himself to his feet slowly until he's standing before her.

"I thought it was time for some empirical research... to... um... see if you were telling the truth the other day about yours not being... fluffy and pink, among other things," she whispers, glancing away as she says it before bringing her eyes back to his. "I've brought a chance of clothes for tomorrow," she adds softly. And this time, when he says her name, it's with a groan of deep yearning and desperate need as he pulls her into his arms and their lips meet in a passionate, soul-wrenching kiss full of all the pent up desire and longing of the past few years.


End file.
